


The Exchange

by MirrorMystic



Series: Among Eagles [6]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Action/Adventure, Developing Friendships, Developing Relationship, F/F, Found Family, Gen, Hostage Situations, Kidnapping, Multi, Space Opera, Urban Fantasy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-03
Updated: 2018-09-03
Packaged: 2019-07-06 03:57:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,361
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15878049
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MirrorMystic/pseuds/MirrorMystic
Summary: The Chase sisters have been reunited, and their father’s Syndicate has been pushed to the brink of destruction-- but this victory comes at a price, and in Trance City, Hypnos, what was supposed to be a routine stop for rest and resupply soon becomes anything but.The Syndicate is ready to fall, but it’s determined to go down swinging. Underboss Charles Fontaine, disgraced after losing Site 17 to the Order, now funnels his remaining resources into getting revenge on the women responsible.The streets of Trance City ring with the footfalls of the Syndicate manhunt, eager to get their hands on Lily, Lila, and the crew who orchestrated the Syndicate’s downfall-- but the Exchange finds them first. With three members of the crew now missing in action, Order asset Sparrow finds itself caught between two rival criminal empires: one, furious and out for their heads, and the other, who just might be open to making a deal...





	The Exchange

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome back, everybody. The crew's not out of the woods just yet. But I hope you all will join them on the journey. And I hope you'll all enjoy the read. ^^
> 
> Content warning: This installment of 'Among Eagles' gets a bit bloodier than most. It contains scenes of torture, as well as brief uses of unsettling, insect imagery. Please proceed with care.

~*~  
  
Trance City, Hypnos. A city painted in neon lights, famed for its nightlife--  
  
\--but Syl wasn’t here to take in the sights.  
  
“This is it,” Syl muttered. She stepped into the square, her long, dark coat fluttering in Hypnos’ chilly nighttime winds, only made manageable by the climate-controlled barrier shielding the city. She crouched over a suspicious burn mark on the pavement, her lips curling into a frown.  
  
There was a shout across the street. Syl rose, drawing her sword and her sidearm and snapping her aim to the trio in Syndicate colors running her way--  
  
_“Sleep!”_  
  
Jaki’s staff struck the pavement like a thunderclap, and three crimson-tied gangsters tumbled to the sidewalk in a heap, violet smoke rising from their eyes. Syl sheathed her weapons and tipped her chin in an appreciative nod.  
  
“No time for little fish,” Jaki said grimly. “Did you find anything?”  
  
Syl fished out her comm, studying the holomap with a sigh.  
  
“The Sparrow’s control room has this as their last known location before Aabha and Morgan’s badges went dark,” Syl reported. She knelt, studying the paving stones, black with soot. “These burns look like they were made with phasic weapons. Stun guns. Whoever took them, took them alive.”  
  
“A cold comfort, at best,” Jaki mused. He knelt, his hand hovering over the lightning burns scorched into the sidewalk. He closed his eyes, searching. He heaved a sigh.  
  
“If we just had a token, I could scry for them,” Jaki said, furrowing his brow. “Something they carried with them today, something linked to their essence…”  
  
“If only our anonymous tip had just told us where he was,” Syl said, sour. “Or at least kept Kit’s comm on, so we could trace it.”  
  
“He must have bolted, first chance he got,” Jaki said. “The streets are crawling with Syndicate goons. Perhaps he didn’t want to be found.”  
  
“By us, or by the Syndicate?” Syl asked, then shook her head. She blew out a frustrated sigh. “...It hardly matters now. Aabha, Morgan, and Kit are missing, and we don’t even know the first place to look.”  
  
Syl huffed, crossing her arms, her eyes growing clouded, distant. Jaki frowned in sympathy, unsure of what to say.  
  
Syl’s comm chirped, breaking the oppressive quiet. She clicked in her earpiece.  
  
“Captain, tell me you have something.”  
  
_“I do. I’m uploading coordinates to your comms-- the Sparrow just got a call from Captain Bowen. You two need to get over to the hospital, right now.”_  
  
~*~  
  
“Just what kind of trouble have you kids gotten into now?”  
  
Captain Cassius Bowen, Hypnos Planetary Defense, sighed and shook his head. He smashed open a pair of doors like he was conducting a police raid, and he marched down the glaring white hallway at a career soldier’s brisk pace, Syl, Jaki, and a quartet of his troopers at his heels.  
  
“The streets are so full of armed thugs you’d swear this city was built on an anthill,” Bowen grumbled, slamming through another pair of doors without breaking stride. “When last I saw lil’ miss Sato, she didn’t seem the type to get swept up with the gangs.”  
  
Bowen sniffed, almost smiled.  
  
“...Then again, she didn’t seem the type to get swept up with the Order, either.”  
  
Another set of double doors came and went with a bang.  
  
“When did she arrive?” Jaki asked.  
  
“An hour ago,” Bowen said, gruff. “She was half-awake and woozy from blood loss. A John Doe dragged her in here, got her inside, then bolted. No ID on him. The hospital pings us automatically whenever anybody with a record gets admitted-- if it weren’t for your girl’s sticky fingers, neither of us would’ve known.”  
  
The squad paused before a final set of doors, the only one Bowen hadn’t smashed through like a human battering ram. Two of his troopers stepped around him and opened the doors.  
  
“She’s just down the hall,” Bowen said with a nod. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have some borderline riots to get back to.”  
  
Syl nodded her thanks, and their PDF escort filed away. She turned her gaze back to the corridor before her, and took a deep breath.  
  
They could hear her long before they saw her.  
  
“You listen to me, lady!” she cried, to a tired nurse who’d undoubtedly been called worse. “I’m twenty-one years old and I can sign myself out of this hospital if I want to. Now let me outta here! You can’t keep me here against my will! I’ve got a thousand better places to be than in a hospital bed!”  
  
Her beleaguered nurse stepped out with a sigh. She glanced up at Syl and Jaki, her twelve-hour shift evident in the bags under her eyes.  
  
“Oh, Agents,” she said. She added, dryly, “...She’s awake.”  
  
“Trying to keep me in here just for a little through-and-through, like I’ve never been _shot_ before…” Kit scoffed, poking and prodding at the gauze wrapped around her bicep.  
  
“Hello, Kit,” Syl said softly.  
  
Kit froze. She lifted her head and she stared up at Syl, clenching and unclenching her fists. She reached for Syl with groping hands, all her bluster draining away in an instant. Her fingers closed around the hem of Syl’s sleeve, and with a stifled shout she yanked Syl forward, burying her head in her chest.  
  
“Syl…!” Kit hissed, smearing angry tears into Syl’s coat. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry…!”  
  
“For what, child…?” Jaki ventured, but Syl shook her head. She gently eased Kit into her arms, smoothing Kit’s hair against her scalp.  
  
“I _ran_ ,” Kit choked out, scowling. “I was right there. I should have done something, but I ran, and I let them get taken…!”  
  
“Shh,” Syl murmured. “Listen to me, Kit. This wasn’t your fault.”  
  
“We have to get them back,” Kit said.  
  
“We _will_ get them back,” Syl said, with a quiet fury. “No matter the cost.”  
  
Syl cradled Kit in her arms as the younger girl sobbed her shame into her chest. Syl exhaled, petting Kit’s hair. She glanced up and met Jaki’s eyes, soft with concern.  
  
“Excuse me, Agents?”  
  
Jaki turned at the voice and momentarily blinked in confusion, before looking down at the tiny form of Dr. Choi, a woman who radiated grace and authority despite her nose only reaching Jaki’s belly button.  
  
“I have Miss Sato’s personal effects,” she said, handing Jaki a plastic bag full of Kit’s clothes, her credstick, and her comm. “The blood stains will come out with a bit of scrubbing, but I’m afraid we had to cut the sleeve off her jacket to operate, you see.”  
  
“Pity,” Jaki mused. “She loved that jacket.”  
  
“I took the liberty of gathering the forms necessary to release Miss Sato into Order custody,” Dr. Choi said, handing Jaki a dataslate. “And… I also went ahead and saved this for you,” she said, holding up a glass vial. “In case it would influence your investigation.”  
  
Jaki took the little glass vial with a frown.  
  
“Syl,” he said, passing it to her.  
  
Syl winced. She held up the vial, the insides speckled with Kit’s blood, along with the rattling remnants of the bullet dug out of Kit’s arm. Slivers of rough, pale white flesh, like tree bark, snaked down her fingertips. Even through the glass, the fragment of cold iron made her skin crawl, in more ways than one.  
  
“That’s just great,” Syl growled. “Our culprit’s a monster hunter.”  
  
~*~  
  
Morgan woke, fitfully, as if from a nightmare, and discovered that the waking world was no safer than his dreams.  
  
His mind was foggy. His limbs felt like lead. He hauled himself upright with a groan, rubbing at his eyes. He blinked the phantoms from his vision, gazing up at his reflection in a wall of polished steel.  
  
Morgan smiled, rueful. It was not his best look, that was for sure. His magic was returning to him in fits and starts, but he was still wracked with the lingering effects of cold iron poisoning. His glamour settled patchwork across his skin, his true flesh, like pale white tree bark, poking through like dead pixels on a dataslate. His tousled hair flickered strangely in the light, becoming antlers, becoming hair again.  
  
Aabha dozed beside him, on the foam pad that served as their mattress. She looked peaceful in her sleep, despite everything, curled up like a child. The sight of her sent an aching fondness through Morgan’s chest, followed just as surely by a pang of guilt.  
  
He was going to get them out of this mess, one way or another.  
  
Morgan frowned, trying to flex some feeling back into his fingers. Their captor had gone to the trouble of binding both his and Aabha’s wrists with what Morgan guessed was silver-thread rope-- as if the traces of cold iron in his bloodstream hadn’t already been enough to shackle his magic. But there was a strange, charcoal-gray rash forming where the rope dug into Aabha’s wrists, her skin darkening and curling as if exposed to a flame, a faint glow creeping down her fingers and up her arms.  
  
Morgan took Aabha’s hand, and almost jumped when he felt how cold she was. Aabha was never cold. He picked up his robe, rolled up and used as a pillow. He shook it out, awkwardly, with his hands tied, and laid it over Aabha’s sleeping form.  
  
Aabha stirred at his touch. She blinked herself awake, murmuring.  
  
“Sir…?” Aabha began. She wriggled her fingers, realizing her hands were tied, and then gasped in surprise at the sight of the burns spreading from her wrists.  
  
“Ah! What-- Why--”  
  
“Shh,” Morgan said, taking Aabha’s hands. “It’s just silver thread.”  
  
He said it as if it would explain everything, but a human shouldn’t be having such a severe reaction to silver. So why…?  
  
Morgan shook his head, and rubbed his eyes. His thoughts still felt like they were shrouded in fog, so he was grateful he still had his robe as his cheat sheet, references for spell patterns disguised as constellations in the night sky.  
  
He found the pattern for healing, and tried to muster what power he could. Green light sparked at his fingertips and failed to catch, once, twice, before a tiny wisp of emerald fire took shape in his hands. He pressed the light into Aabha’s palm.  
  
Aabha sighed in relief as Morgan’s spell pushed back the strange scarring on her fingers, the soothing green glow abruptly stopping at her silver-thread bindings. Embers drifted through the air.  
  
Their eyes met-- warm amber and forest green. A host of feeling passed between them in a single look.  
  
Then their cell door hissed open, and broke the intimate quiet.  
  
“ _Good_ morning, kiddies!”  
  
A giant of a man stepped into their cell, his bulk only accentuated by his bulky powered armor. He had to turn sideways to fit in through the door. He had a shaved head, a leathery face lined with scars, and a smile like a knife’s edge. And he was a chatterbox, too, to Morgan and Aabha’s quiet chagrin.  
  
“Call me Kresnik,” he said, flashing the duo a grin that may or may not have been genuine. “Headhunter Kresnik. You remember me, right? Shot you up a bit? I never forget the face of a man who shoots me. Good rule. Served me well. And a face like mine, well… I’m kinda hard to forget, don’t you think?”  
  
Kresnik laughed uproariously at his own… well. ‘Joke’ might be giving him too much credit. Aabha and Morgan exchanged dry glances.  
  
“S’amatter? You don’t think I’m funny?” Kresnik wondered. He got down on one knee, still towering over Aabha and Morgan as they sat on the floor. He smiled, all teeth and no warmth.  
  
“I do,” Kresnik continued. “I think I’m a laugh riot. But you don’t like my jokes, and that’s fine, that’s fine. There’s plenty of other things I can be.”  
  
Kresnik clicked open the thigh plate on his armor, and a knife appeared in his grip. Aabha immediately pulled Morgan behind her, hardwired to fight and protect.  
  
“Well, now…” Kresnik grinned dangerously. “How’s _this_ for a first impression? Look out, fellas. We’ve got a fighter over here. Cute one, too.”  
  
Aabha glowered at him. If looks could kill, Kresnik would have a smouldering six-inch hole through his chest right about now. Instead, he shrugged, sheathing his threatening demeanor in jocular mirth.  
  
“Well, as it turns out, there’s been a bit of a misunderstanding,” Kresnik said. “See, my guy Harken? I thought he was gonna cut you up, sell y’all for parts. It’s a bull market for organs, here in Trance City, and I thought he only wanted y’all alive so as not to damage the goods. Well, at least not any more than they are already.”  
  
Kresnik ‘playfully’ slapped Aabha’s thigh with the flat of his knife. Aabha stared him down and didn’t flinch. He shrugged.  
  
“But it looks like Harken’s got other plans for you. We’ve got some guests coming in today, and you gotta look presentable.”  
  
Kresnik cut through Aabha’s bonds. The charcoal-gray scarring receded almost immediately, her flesh shining saffron as it was made whole again. Kresnik reached over and did the same for Morgan. Morgan gasped in relief, his magic surging through his numb fingertips, his glamour restabilizing.  
  
“You guys gotta take care of your health, y’know,” Kresnik smiled, tucking his knife away. “You two need to be ready.”  
  
“Why, for the _auction_?” Aabha snapped, fire in her eyes.  
  
Kresnik shook his head, smiling that dangerous, knife-thin smile.  
  
“The test,” he said, as if that explained everything, closing the cell door on his way out.  
  
~*~  
  
Robyn paced the control room, agitated, her arms crossed over her chest. Syl was a pillar beside her, steadfast and stony-faced, her hands clasped formally behind her back. Crane also lurked nearby, inscrutable and aloof, her glasses glinting in the light of the holoterminal. The luminous form of a woman in uniform and bearing an Order crest watched Robyn as she wore circles in the deck around the dais. Robyn pinched the bridge of her nose, trying to curb her temper.  
  
“Why not?” she said, as evenly as she could manage.  
  
_“You know why,”_ Order Sector Commander Cassandra Vega said over the link, a look of weary sympathy in her eyes. _“We’re still in the middle of prosecuting our campaign against the Syndicate. Our forces in the Rim worlds are stretched precariously thin as it is. I simply don’t have anybody to spare.”_  
  
“I’m not asking for an army, Cassie,” Robyn said. “I’m not trying to fight a war, here. I just need enough to mount a rescue.”  
  
_“You know that one will lead to the other,”_ Cassie sighed. _“We cannot afford to provoke The Exchange. The Rim is a big place, Captain. Our strike forces have only gotten as far as they have because they had surprise and intel on their side. If we start fighting a war on two fronts, our forces may well find themselves cornered and torn apart. I’m sorry, captain. But I cannot help you.”_  
  
“Not even to rescue two Agents captured by a hostile force?” Syl asked quietly. All eyes in the room turned to her, and she lowered her head, pressing her lips into a line.  
  
“Commander,” Crane spoke up, nudging her glasses up on her nose. “Not to sound… insensitive, to the parties involved, but… there is also the issue of operational security to consider. If Junior Puri and Senior Telerian have been compromised, and sensitive information were to wind up in enemy hands--”  
  
“Fuck that!” Robyn snapped. “This isn’t about keeping Order secrets, this is about my crew! Morgan’s been with me since the beginning, and Aabha’s our rising star. I’m not going to leave them behind!”  
  
_“I_ ** _understand_** _, captain,”_ Cassie said, with the utmost sincerity. Robyn caught herself, biting back her anger and staring at the floor. _“If it were up to me, I would send an entire liberation fleet to Hypnos to annihilate the Exchange and dismantle their trafficking networks for good. But it is_ ** _not_** _up to me. Even if it were, we don’t have those kinds of forces that far out in the Rim. And if we did, it would take them too long to reach you. There’s too much we don’t know. We don’t where they’re being held. We don’t even know if they’re still--”_ _  
__  
_ “Don’t,” Syl said sharply. “Don’t go there.”  
  
Cassie bit her lip.  
  
_“I’m sorry, captain. I wish you luck.”_  
  
Robyn let out a long sigh, staring up at the ceiling.    
  
Just outside, Lily, Lila, and Kit were all getting cozy in the lounge. Kit was regaling a starry-eyed Lila with the tale of how she and Aabha took on “like, a hundred” Syndicate goons all by themselves until a sniper had to put them down.  
  
“...he got me right here, in the arm, but I walked it off,” Kit grinned, proudly showing off her bandaged bicep. “See, now it only hurts when you touch it.”  
  
“Like this?” Lily asked, and poked.  
  
“Ow! Fuck! Yeah, like that!”  
  
Kit dove for Lily and they tussled like a pair of kids, Lila laughing all the while. For a moment, it was almost like everything was okay.  
  
Then the door to the control room slid open, Lily and Kit leapt to attention, and Lila saw the anxious veneer of normalcy for exactly what it was.  
  
Robyn emerged, a sullen Crane and Syl in tow. She saw the expectant looks in Lily and Kit’s eyes and hated to be the one to let them down.  
  
“No go, kids,” Robyn sighed, shaking her head. “Even if Cassie had reinforcements to spare, the closest teams are still days away.”  
  
“And the longer we wait…” Crane trailed off, grim.  
  
“It gets worse,” Robyn said. She pulled off her hat and raked a hand through her hair. “The Order cannot be seen to be attacking the Exchange. Not even to get their Agents back. That means, even if we put on a rescue mission of our own, Syl and Agent Crane here will have to sit it out. That doesn’t leave a whole lot of us left.”  
  
“But you can’t leave them behind!” Lila said, aghast.  
  
“We’re _not_ ,” Syl said firmly. “We’ll figure something out. But our hands are tied, and our options are limited…”  
  
“I’ll go, then,” Kit insisted. “I don’t have a badge. I’m basically just muscle, right? I’ll go after her.”  
  
“Me, too,” Lily stepped forward. “Kit and I will get them back ourselves if we have to!”  
  
“Let’s not do anything reckless,” Syl said, as patiently as she could. “We still don’t know who took them, not exactly. We still don’t know where they are.”  
  
“About that…”  
  
Jaki emerged from his cabin down the hall, and all eyes turned to face him. He had a golden, bloodstained scarf-- Aabha’s scarf-- draped over his arm. Jaki smiled.  
  
“...I think I may have a solution.”  
  
~*~  
  
Jaki’s room was a sparsely furnished cabin on the crew deck, down the hall from the girls’. Inside was little more than a desk, chair, cot, and closet. Jaki ushered Kit inside and sat her down on his cot, while Syl and Lily lingered in the doorway, gazing up at the bare walls. The room was virtually unchanged from when Jaki had first moved in, years and years ago.  
  
“You, uh… ever think of decorating, Father?” Lily wondered.  
  
“When you can see the world as I do, child, no amount of decorating can compare to the cosmos’ grand design,” Jaki smiled. “...Also, you have no idea how hard it is to find vintage movie posters nowadays. I’ve never been happy with the switch to digital frames.”  
  
Jaki took Aabha’s scarf and smoothed it across his desk. Kit furrowed her brow, puzzled.  
  
“Where did you get that?” she asked. “Last I saw, Aabha gave it to this kid named Cooper with a busted arm.”  
  
“When you arrived at the hospital, it was wrapped around your arm,” Jaki said. “Dr. Choi returned it to us along with the rest of your personal effects. I’m not surprised you don’t remember-- you weren’t exactly lucid at the time.”  
  
“How does this help us?” Lily asked.  
  
“With this scarf as a token, I believe I can divine Aabha’s current location,” Jaki said. “In truth, I could have attempted using anything else strongly associated with her, but the clothes she was wearing just before she was abducted? I believe this will have the freshest trail.”  
  
“What do you need from us?” Syl asked.  
  
“Two things,” Jaki said. “First, I need a focus to help me determine the correct thread-- one to whom Aabha’s thread of life is powerfully entwined.”  
  
Kit and Lily exchanged glances. They clasped hands.  
  
“We’re ready,” Kit said.  
  
“Second, I need an anchor,” Jaki continued. “Someone solid, steady, with a consistent personality. If I cast myself into the Aether, I need to know I can find my way back. Syl, you should do nicely.”  
  
“Understood,” Syl nodded.  
  
“I think he’s calling her boring,” Lily whispered.  
  
“She _is_ the fun police,” Kit whispered back.  
  
Syl shot the girls a look. They flashed back innocent smiles.  
  
Jaki splayed his fingers over Aabha’s scarf, the golden silk shimmering strangely in the light. Jaki shuddered and closed his eyes, heaving out a sigh.  
  
“Alright, now,” he whispered. “Here we go…”  
  
Jaki seized, and his eyes shot open. Darkness appeared where Jaki’s eyes should have been, cut through with violet nebulae and distant, glimmering stars...  
  
~*~  
  
_In astral space, the light of life shines like a star._ _  
__  
__He emerges, bodiless, in the In-Between, the halfway place home to mages and monsters. Three stars bloom like flowers of light beside him. Syl, a pillar of green light, her magic pooling in her legs like the roots of a great tree. He reaches out and touches her thread. It resonates in the stillness, shining in the dark._ _  
__  
__The other two stars gleam beside him. Lily, frost-blue like a frozen lake, and Kit, golden and whistling like wind through the wheat. Their auras mingle and bleed into one another, the memories of the past months melting together in a gigantic skirl of light and color. He sifts through the threads, gently nudging aside crystalline memories of wrestling like children or staying up late together, telling stories by conjured firelight._ _  
__  
__Even shivering with threads of frost-blue and wheat-gold, coiling together like climbing ivy, the crimson fire of Aabha’s thread is impossible to miss. He reaches out, takes the shining thread in his hands--_ _  
__  
__\--and he’s zooming into the city, shooting across the luminous path like an electrical impulse down a wire. The myriad lights of Trance City blaze around him like a starfield, not the neon red of signs and billboards, but the light of life, densely packed and blinding to look upon._ _  
__  
__He follows the light down through the city’s sublevels, cast in the perpetual shadow of the corporate towers above, and then he’s rising, flying up through floor after floor. There’s a bridge, and a light shining above him--_ _  
__  
__Two stars appear in the sky above him, radiating malice. The hateful, crimson stare settles upon him like a yoke, a binary sunset that burns, suffocates, consumes._ _  
__  
__Under the crushing weight of such scrutiny, he turns, seeking his anchor. Syl’s frost-green light is still bright and clear, even in the press of neighboring stars, but she’s so far away. He reaches for her, fingers grasping, remembering that he has fingers, a body, a_ ** _name_** _\--_ _  
__  
__Jaki plucks the thread. A single resonant chord echoes in the vastness, ringing long and loud._ _  
_  
~*~  
  
There was the gentlest of chimes, and Jaki returned to himself.  
  
He shuddered and doubled over, bracing himself on his desk and clutching his eyes. Black smoke wept from his nose, his mouth, and between his fingers.  
  
“Sorcerer…” Jaki breathed, before launching into a coughing fit. Syl was at his side, followed soon after by Lily and Kit. He took a deep breath and looked up at them, his vision blurring and refocusing. Slowly, the starry sky melted from his eyes, returning to their natural, warm chestnut.  
  
“Are you alright…?” Lily wondered. Jaki waved her away, leaning heavily on the edge of his desk and pulling himself to his feet.  
  
“Forget about me,” Jaki wheezed, pushing past Syl and towards the control room. “A map. I need a map.”  
  
~*~  
  
The sun rose over Hypnos, its brilliant golden glow only slightly dimmed by the force field surrounding the city. Spires rose from the Trance City skyline like the points of a crown, gleaming gold in the radiant light, shining towers casting the rest of the sprawling city in their shadows. High above the dark, dirty streets, Aabha and Morgan stood in an armored plasteel cylinder bridging the gap between two skyscrapers. They gazed out over the city below, taking a moment to take in the view. Then a huge, gauntleted hand shoved them both forward, and they resumed their trudging with a pair of disgruntled sighs.  
  
Daybreak, and the mercenary, Kresnik, was escorting the two of them to their ‘test’. A few hours of fitful sleep had done little to improve either of their conditions. Morgan’s magic was still muzzled by the traces of cold iron lingering in his system, and Aabha still felt a numbness in her extremities, side effects of the phasic round that had shocked her into unconsciousness the previous night. She shuffled along in a sullen quiet, a far cry from the bright and vivacious girl Morgan was used to seeing.  
  
Kresnik’s heavy, power-armored boots clunked behind them with every step. For his part, the bounty hunter was confident in the hold he had over his captives. He was exceptionally well-armed and armored. Kresnik’s sidearm was as big as Morgan’s head, his belt bristled with gadgets, traps, and grenades, and there was even a heavy autocannon secured to his back with magnetic clamps, the sort that would normally be mounted on a tripod or a gunship. His armor was the dull off-white of unpainted ceramite, whether because he hadn’t bothered with getting it painted in the first place or if time and conflict had worn it all away.  
  
Despite the arsenal he was carrying around, Kresnik kept his hands free. After all, why not? If they tried anything, Kresnik could crush either of their skulls with a single punch, and his armor would withstand anything Aabha or Morgan could conceivably throw at it.  
  
Morgan briefly met Aabha’s eyes, before glancing over his shoulder at the giant pacing behind them. Kresnik flashed him a dangerous grin. Morgan fixed his eyes forward, pressing his lips into a line.  
  
If they couldn’t get away from this, all they could do was get through.  
  
They crossed the span and entered the great spire, twin to the one they had just come from. Every surface was sleek black and white, clean and austere, a sharp contrast to the golden sunlight streaming in through the floor-length windows.  
  
Guards in matte black carapace armor stood stock-still at every door, or prowled down the hallways in tight, well-disciplined groups. They hid their faces behind mirrored visors, electronic blue light glowing from between the plates of their sleek, armored bodysuits. They exuded an aura of chilly professionalism, a far cry from the hotheaded and foul-mouthed Syndicate. Tellingly, many of them carried expensive, experimental phasic or cryo weapons, ideal for subduing targets without killing them.  
  
_Or damaging the merchandise_ , Morgan thought with a grimace. _Why kill what you can sell?_ _  
__  
_ Morgan glanced at Aabha to see if she mirrored his distaste, but she just kept her head down, her eyes on the floor. Morgan exhaled.  
  
“You’re called Kresnik, right?” Morgan asked.  
  
“That’s me,” Kresnik grunted, ushering them down a maze of hallways. Exchange troopers stood rigidly at attention as they filed past.  
  
“After the sun god or the legendary demon hunter?” Morgan wondered.  
  
Kresnik broke into a grin. “What, I’m not ‘legendary’ enough for you already, bagging a pair of high-and-mighty Order operatives?”  
  
“Anybody can drop an Agent from a sniper perch,” Aabha muttered, bitter.  
  
“True enough,” Kresnik conceded. “Does take a bit of the fun out of it, I admit. Might be, someday, we’ll get to go toe to toe in a _real_ fight.”  
  
“Do you ‘bag’ a lot of demons, then?” Morgan asked.  
  
“Not just demons. All kinds of supers,” Kresnik grinned. “With human bounties, it’s just one shootout after another. Going after supers keeps things… fresh.”  
  
“I’m _flattered_ ,” Aabha scoffed.  
  
They emerged from a winding corridor into a spacious, but spartan, sitting room. Two men were waiting for them, flanked by a dozen visored guards.  
  
Aabha squinted, rubbing at her eyes. Blurry, half-formed memories came back to her of the previous night-- the train platform. The force field cage. A man in a white suit, with an electric blue tie.  
  
One of the men, she knew. She caught glimpses of him last night, when they were being transferred between magrails, before Kresnik took her and Morgan and shuttled them off into captivity. Exchange Overseer Arthur Harken. Trafficker. Auctioneer. Host of the Exchange’s monthly Market Days.  
  
Aabha shuddered, disgusted. After the case on Persephone, she’d had quite enough of human traffickers. But it was the other man, sitting across from Harken, that sent a wordless dread slithering up her spine.  
  
He was a small, slight, physically unimposing man, in an incongruous red robe trimmed with gold. His fingers were covered in rattling brass rings. His eyes locked on Aabha’s across the room and she swore she felt her heart stop. There was something wrong with his eyes. Save for his pupils, his eyes were red-- all red, without any white showing.  
  
Aabha shivered, and wrenched her eyes away from the man’s unsettling gaze. Kresnik glowered at him as they approached, muttering under his breath.  
  
“I hate that guy,” Kresnik scowled. “Gives me the fuckin’ creeps.”  
  
“If you hate him so much, why work for him?” Aabha whispered.  
  
“I don’t,” Kresnik said sharply. “A job is a job is a job, but _he_ doesn’t write my checks. You kids ever heard of the Blood Pact?”  
  
“Of course we have,” Morgan said.  
  
“They’re a cult,” Aabha nodded.  
  
“Yeah, and not some harmless,  touchy-feely ‘let’s all go in the woods and take Dreamsand’ cult, neither,” Kresnik grumbled. “They’re trouble. Believe me.”  
  
The two men rose from their chairs as the trio approached. Harken adjusted his cuffs and tapped a button on his watch. Morgan glanced over his shoulder as they stepped inside, a suspiciously thick hatch sliding shut behind them.  
  
“Yo, Harken!” Kresnik called out. “I got your guests, right here.”  
  
“Thank you, Mr. Kresnik,” the robed figure said. His voice, chillingly soft-spoken, made Aabha’s skin crawl. “Your work is appreciated. Now, leave us.”  
  
Kresnik glowered at the man with barely disguised contempt. He glanced back at Aabha and Morgan with a look approaching sympathy.  
  
“Good luck,” Kresnik grunted, sounding sincere. He clapped his hands on their shoulders with surprising tenderness, despite the armored bulk of his gauntlets. He pushed his way through the guards and out of the room.  
  
“Hello, children,” the robed man began. “You may call me Father Cyrus.”  
  
Aabha met Morgan’s eyes with a snap. “Cyrus,” she hissed.  
  
Morgan bit his lip. Two months ago, the team was here in Trance City searching for Cyrus, sorcerer of the Blood Pact. They raided a warehouse where the Blood Pact and the Exchange were making a deal, hoping to capture him then. Unfortunately, Cyrus had sent his subordinate, Bloodletter Kaul, in his stead. When all was said and done, meeting Kit and having her join the crew was a fine consolation prize. But Cyrus had slipped through their grasp, and vanished into the night.  
  
What was he doing here, in the heart of Exchange territory?  
  
“I see you’ve heard of me,” Cyrus chuckled. “The feeling is mutual. A deal fell through, some weeks ago. A PDF raid, led by Order operatives, ruined a particular transaction my apprentice was trying to make on my behalf. A setback, to be sure.”  
  
Cyrus chuckled, and opened his arms, gesturing to his surroundings.  
  
“A setback,” he repeated, “but as you can see, despite the delay, business has been booming. And I have you Agents to thank for it. Now, then, please… have a seat.”  
  
It wasn’t a request. Aabha and Morgan exchanged glances before crossing over to the armchairs that Cyrus and Harken had been waiting for them in, the only furnishings in an otherwise blank, empty room. They each took a seat, mindful of the guards watching their every move. Immediately, restraining cuffs snapped shut over their wrists and ankles. Aabha and Morgan could feel something rough and raw, scraping at the edge of their senses. Foul magic hung heavy in the air, like the vapors of a swamp-- muggy, oppressive, smothering.  
  
Two large spotlights flared on behind the duo, casting long shadows towards the far end of the room. Cyrus stepped forward, parting the crowd of Exchange troopers like waves around a stone. They scurried out of his path, taking up positions along the walls, none of them eager to linger in the sorcerer’s presence.  
  
“I understand how this might come across,” Cyrus said, his voice never rising above a whisper that was anything but soothing. “Two Agents, disrupting my operations, now captive and at my mercy. I assure you, I am far above such things as petty revenge. And the price of one lost shipment is nothing compared to the value of what I seek today.”  
  
A sound, like scuttling insects, filled the air. The temperature of the room plummeted, sending frost creeping along the walls and fog across the visors of the assembled troopers.  
  
“Fate, it seems, has seen fit to bring you to my grasp. And for that, I am grateful,” Cyrus said. He stepped into the spotlights, his shadow blooming and billowing like ink in water. “Superhuman specimens are so very rare, this far out in the Rim. I need a very particular sort for my work, you see. And baseline humans are all so very… fragile.”  
  
Cyrus clasped his hands together, his brass rings glinting in the light, his shadow stretching across the floor.  
  
“You two will make fine specimens,” he said, and smiled. “I have high hopes for you.”  
  
An unearthly presence radiated out from Cyrus’ slight, unassuming form. Aabha cried out in pain, and Morgan grimaced, a wave of invisible force crushing them into their seats. Strange shadows flicked across the walls. The sound, like a chorus of hellish locusts, rose up around them, growing until it became deafening.  
  
And then, loud enough to pierce even this nightmarish din, the screaming began.    
  
~*~  
  
Jaki paced the dais of the control room, surrounded by the glowing white hololithic projection of Trance City in miniature. He furrowed his brow, stroking his goatee with one hand while the other swiped away layers of data. City blocks vanished from the projection, the field of view zooming in bit by bit-- until at last, there were only the twin spires of a skyscraper at the heart of the city, connected midway up the span by a cylindrical, plasteel bridge.  
  
“Here,” Jaki breathed. “This is the place.”  
  
Jaki reached into the hololith and zoomed in on the twin spires until they filled the entire holofield. Syl stepped forward, tapping open an info panel and scanning the streams of text that scrolled down the screen.  
  
“‘Esoteric Xenobiology Center’...” Syl read. She smiled, rueful, glancing around at the rest of the Sparrow’s officers. “The EXC. The Exchange, hiding in plain sight.”  
  
“Is it really ‘hiding’ if they have a skyscraper in the middle of town?” Robyn wondered.  
  
“Moving human cargo, whether living or dead, under the guise of medical research,” Yuna murmured, shaking her head. “How awful.”  
  
“Awfully well defended, is what,” Crane said, nudging her glasses up on her nose. She stepped forward, zooming the hololith in to the bridge connecting the two spires. “Look at this. They’ve designed their towers so that they can strictly monitor any and all traffic into Spire 2. There’s no ground access, no rooftop landing pads. Anybody who wants to enter Spire 2 at all has to go up through the base of Spire 1 and then across the connecting bridge.”  
  
“Is infiltration an option?” Robyn wondered.  
  
Crane blew out a sigh. “...It’d be rough. Entering Spire 2 directly would be downright impossible to do quietly-- either you fly in, and risk getting shot down by rooftop anti-air batteries, or you’re on the ground, stuck trying to scale a sheer wall. And that’s the easy part. Getting in is one thing. Getting out is always the hard part.”  
  
“If we can’t do it quietly…” Robyn huffed. “...what if we go loud?”  
  
_We don’t have the manpower or the firepower to crack this place by force,_ Shanti typed. _Do you seriously think we can just charge in there, guns blazing?_  
  
“We will,” Syl said, resolute. “If we have to. If that’s what it takes.”  
  
“No,” Yuna said gently. “Our only chance is trying to negotiate.”  
  
“With what?” Robyn asked. “What kind of ransom do you think they’d charge for a pair of Order operatives? Do you have that kind of money on you? We’re in no position to bargain. What do we even have to offer?”  
  
“Me.”  
  
Everyone looked up. Lily strode into the control room, sliding the hatch shut behind her.  
  
“You have me,” Lily repeated. She marched right up to the holoterminal and stood before it, haloed by the luminous map of EXC Towers. “Thanks to the shitstorm we kicked off at Site 17, Lila and I are the Syndicate’s most wanted women in the sector. There’s a bounty on our heads, and Fontaine would pay good money to get his grubby hands on even one of us. Good enough for The Exchange to take notice, at least. I’ll go in, unarmed, and make a deal. We get Aabha and Morgan back; they get me, and whatever bounty for me that Fontaine’s willing to pay. Then we take our chances with the Syndicate.”  
  
The crew stared at Lily in a stunned quiet. Robyn whistled, long and low.  
  
“Brave child,” Jaki muttered solemnly.  
  
_Or foolish_ , Shanti signed, grim.  
  
“Lily,” Syl began. “I appreciate what you’re trying to do here. But this plan… we’d be right back where we started. I won’t get Aabha and Morgan back at your expense, Lily. We come out of this together, or not at all.”  
  
“Better the Syndicate than the Exchange,” Lily argued. “And better the devil you know. We’ve fought the Syndicate before. Hell, we stomped them! And if we’ve done it before, then you can do it again to get me back after the deal is done.”  
  
“Lily, this is insane,” Robyn cut in.  
  
“Maybe not,” Crane mused. “Unlike The Exchange, the Syndicate and the Order are at open war. If we had to pull her out…”  
  
“Nothing would be stopping the Order from launching a full-scale rescue,” Syl said.  
  
“ _Unless_ , even if it gets authorized, there are no rescuers available  to go after her,” Robyn insisted. “Cassie said herself, any reinforcements she could send us are days away. After what you did to the Syndicate, Lily? After what you let us do to them? They’re going to tear you to shreds. I’m not going to stand here and send you to your death.”  
  
Lily swallowed hard, and met Robyn’s eyes.  
  
“Captain. Please. Please, let me do this. We all know how much Morgan means to this team-- how much _Aabha_ means to this team. The only reason they got caught last night was because the Syndicate was combing the streets, looking for me. I have to make it right. I’ll bring them back. And if everything goes smoothly, it won’t be long until I’m back, too.”  
  
“That’s a big ‘if’,” Syl said softly.  
  
“Please, captain,” Lily begged.  
  
Robyn pulled off her rose-tinted glasses and rubbed at her temples, the wide brim of her hat pulled down over her eyes. She sighed.  
  
“...Prep the Remoras for launch.”  
  
~*~  
  
Syl marched down the crew deck corridor with a purpose, Lily close at her heels. They emerged into the cargo bay just as one of the Remora anti-gravity skimmers descended from its overhead crane hoist and locked into the launch catapult set inside the deck. Vincent gave them a nod from his control panel on the balcony. He hit a button on his console, lowering the boarding ramp and opening the cargo bay doors with a pressurized hiss.  
  
“I’ll fly you in,” Syl said, as they descended the rickety gantry steps down from the balcony. “After that, though, you’ll be on your own.”  
  
Lily nodded, resolute. “I’m ready.”  
  
The Remora’s gleaming hull unfurled like petals of chrome. Syl eased her way inside, tapping at the console. The anti-gravity halo shimmered to life below the craft, and it rose a foot off the deck, fighting against the grip of the launch cradle. Lily made to pull herself aboard.  
  
“Lily!”  
  
Lily swore under her breath. Lila appeared against the balcony, searching the bay below. She caught Lily’s eyes for a second and ran down the steps two at a time, almost falling in her haste. Kit came running after her, just behind.  
  
“I’m sorry, Lily,” Kit called. “I told her to stay in our room--”  
  
“You’re leaving,” Lila hissed. “You’re leaving, and you weren’t even going to tell me!”  
  
“I didn’t want you to worry--”  
  
“Or you just didn’t want me to stop you!” Lila snapped. “Lily, you can’t do this! What the fuck are you thinking?!”  
  
Lily glanced up and met Kit’s eyes. She took a deep breath, and sighed. “...We owe her, Lila. On Persephone… Aabha got us out of hell.”  
  
“And now you’re walking right back in!” Lila shrieked. “This is _crazy_ , Lily!”  
  
“Aabha got us out of hell,” Lily repeated. She stepped forward, gently taking Lila’s shoulders. “Now she needs me to do the same for her.”  
  
Lila’s anger drained away, leaving only a monstrous fear. She threw herself into Lily’s arms, clinging to her neck and slumping down until they were both kneeling on the floor.  
  
“Please,” Lila begged. “Please, Lily, don’t do this. Just six weeks without you was hard enough. Now, you’re here. You’re finally here. Please… please, don’t leave me again.”  
  
“I have to,” Lily whispered into Lila’s throat. “I’m sorry. But I won’t be gone long. I promise.”  
  
Lila sniffled, smearing tears into Lily’s coat. “Lily?”  
  
“Yeah?”  
  
“I love you.”  
  
“I love you, too, kiddo,” Lily murmured. “More than anything.”  
  
Lily pulled them both to their feet. She drew Lila close and pressed a kiss against her scalp, before ushering her back into Kit’s waiting arms. Lila rubbed her eyes.  
  
“Just… tell me you’re going to come back,” Lila pleaded.  
  
“I will,” Lily breathed. She glanced up, meeting Kit’s eyes. “Take care of her.”  
  
Kit nodded. “You, too.”  
  
Lily swallowed hard. She took Lila’s hands and gave them one last squeeze, before she climbed aboard the Remora and the chrome hull swallowed her up.  
  
Lily took her seat, wiping her eyes. Syl glanced at her, her lips pressed into a line. She exhaled, keying in her comm.  
  
“This is Strike One, ready for deploy.”  
  
_“Launch.”_  
  
“Launching.”  
  
The Remora’s drives lit with a brilliant azure light. With a squeal of metal, the launch catapult hurled them down the magnetized rail and flung them out into the city. Lila clung to Kit, their clothes billowing in the kinetic shockwave of a launched hovercraft, watching as Syl and Lily vanished into the garish light of day.  
  
~*~  
  
They screamed. Over the droning of locusts, over chittering mandibles and scuttling wing cases, over the clicking and scraping and gnawing of a hundred thousand mouths, they screamed. Darkness surrounded them, engulfing them in a dome of abyssal blackness that throbbed and heaved with their invisible attackers and muffled the sounds of their agony within.  
  
The darkness opened up like a flower in bloom, pulling away from Aabha and Morgan’s shivering forms, both of them panting for breath. They were both bleeding from a hundred different cuts, scrapes, and bites. Their clothes, shredded and frayed, clung to them, sticky with blood and sweat.  
  
Cyrus’ shadow returned to him, settling in a shape that was almost, but not quite, a man. He watched his captives with a dreadful fascination, thoughtfully stroking his chin.  
  
Morgan slumped in his chair, his robe in tatters around him. His little cheat sheet, made for him back when he was still in training-- a dozen spell patterns, disguised as constellations in the night sky. A spell for every occasion.  
  
He could charm someone by making eye contact. He could heal with a touch. He could pick locks, breathe underwater, create shields of solidified light, channel lightning through his fingertips. It was his pride as an Order Task Mage. He was versatile. Adaptive. Ready for anything.  
  
Anything except, it seemed, his magic being smothered by cold iron poisoning. Now, all his tools were stripped away. His eyes were no longer mesmerizing; his touch, no longer soothing. All he had left was his voice. His voice, and his duty.  
  
“Aabha,” Morgan whispered, through cracked lips. “Aabha. Hey!”  
  
“I’m still here,” Aabha whimpered. Tears streaked her cheeks. “Are you alright, sir?”  
  
Morgan’s heart ached at the sight of Aabha laid low-- but there was something strange in her demeanor. There was something wrong with her eyes; amber a moment ago, now flecked with red. And despite the stench of blood hanging heavy in the air, Aabha breathed deep and sighed, as if… content.  
  
Morgan shoved the thought aside.  
  
“Aabha,” Morgan urged. “Aabha, talk to me.”  
  
Aabha blinked, and glanced up at him, the red in her eyes receding for the moment.  
  
“About what?” she asked.  
  
Cyrus frowned. He splayed his fingers, and a tendril emerged from his shadow. It slashed across Aabha and Morgan’s shadows, stretched across the floor by the spotlights behind them. They both cried out, a ragged slice appearing across their chests.  
  
Aabha’s eyes locked onto the spray of blood that coiled across the air, like motes of dust caught in a shaft of sunlight. Red flecks stained her amber eyes. She started to salivate.  
  
“Anything!” Morgan called, snapping her attention back to him. “Your first time.”  
  
Aabha almost laughed. “My first time being _tortured_?”  
  
The tendril snapped across their shadows again, sending them rocking in their chairs. A second bloody welt crossed the first and made an X over their torsos. Aabha hung her head, her eyes heavy-lidded.  
  
“Not being tortured, then,” Morgan said, through gritted teeth. “Your first time being in love.”  
  
Aabha smiled, despite everything. “...Well… it’s no secret.”  
  
Another lash. Another gash tore itself across their bodies. Aabha whimpered in pain, slumping down in her chair.  
  
“Aabha,” Morgan called. “Aabha, look at me. Come on! Tell me about them. Tell me what they’re like.”  
  
Aabha laughed weakly. She lifted her head, dizzy with pain. Across from her, Morgan was bleeding from a multitude of wounds, and she knew she didn’t look much better. Blood trickled down his face from a wound on his scalp, down his nose and past his lips. The little red line caught Aabha’s eyes, and try as she might, she couldn’t look away. Crimson flickered across her eyes.  
  
“It’s Kit,” Aabha said, her eyes following a single drop of blood as it traced a leisurely path down Morgan’s forehead and off the tip of his nose. “She’s… she’s wonderful. She’s funny, and daring, and… she’s strong. I wish… I wish I could be stronger, for her.”  
  
“You are strong,” Morgan urged. “You’re stronger than anyone I’ve ever met. Well, maybe except for Syl.”  
  
“In a fight, sure,” Aabha said, dazed. “In a fight, I can handle myself. But it’s the other kinds of strength… the ones that really matter. Like… being brave. Standing up for what’s right.”  
  
Another lash. Another bloody wound.  
  
“You’ve done that, though,” Morgan said through gritted teeth. “You’ve been brave.”  
  
“No,” Aabha whispered. “I’ve been afraid. I’ve been afraid, and I’ve had the team take care of me. The captain. Yuna. Shanti. Jaki. Syl. Even you, Morgan. You always say you’re a better detective than a fighter. But you take care of me, Morgan. You protect me. You’re doing it right now.”  
  
Cyrus raised his hand. A wave of darkness swept across the floor and crashed into Aabha and Morgan’s shadows like a tidal wave. Morgan grit his teeth and met the scything phantom blades with grunts of pain. Aabha shuddered in her chair, crying out piteously. When the assault lifted, and the shadows returned to their master, Aabha was left staring up at the ceiling, gasping for breath.  
  
Aabha screwed her eyes shut, tears stinging as they dribbled into open wounds.  
  
“It hurts,” she whimpered, mewling in pain. “It hurts, Morgan…”  
  
“I know,” Morgan said, breathless. “I know.”  
  
“Please,” Aabha hissed, through her tears. “I want to go home…!”  
  
Another lash. Morgan flinched at Aabha’s scream. When he opened his eyes, he saw the long, ragged slash across her chest, tearing open a shred of her blouse--  
  
\--and the charm, somehow intact on its cord around her neck. His charm. His remnant of Tir Tairngire, his doomed homeworld, and the promise that he made.  
  
“I will,” Morgan said. “I will. Syl and I, we… we made a promise to your parents to keep you safe… and that when all this was over, we would bring you home. I’ll take you back, Aabha. I promise. As soon as we get out of here…”  
  
“No,” Aabha insisted, shaking her head. “I _have_ a home.”  
  
Overseer Harken shifted uncomfortably, toying with his cuffs. He swiped anxious sweat from his brow, wringing his handkerchief in his hands.  
  
“Your Excellency,” he began, wary. “Perhaps we shouldn’t push them so hard. You would not want to… damage… the merchandise.”  
  
“Nonsense,” Cyrus smiled. “Observe…”  
  
Aabha was shuddering in her chair, the blood scent filling her senses. A harsh, white light, like a welding torch, appeared along her many open wounds. A hazy red aura, like the faintest of flames, flickered above her form and fought back the unnatural cold of Cyrus’ magic. Spots of red kept dappling her amber eyes, and she had to keep blinking them away.  
  
There was something inside her, hidden away for so long...  
  
“Amazing how, in extremis, our true selves emerge…” Cyrus smiled, tapping his fingers together. “You have stumbled across a very valuable specimen, indeed.”  
  
Harken cleared his throat. “...Thank you, Your Excellency.”  
  
“Now, then,” Cyrus said, stepping forward. “Let us see if our other guest has any secrets in _his_ blood…”  
  
Harken flinched and closed his eyes. Cyrus began another round of lashings, and Morgan’s cries of pain split the air.  
  
Another lash. Another scream.  
  
“ _Stop it!_ ” Aabha shrieked. “Leave him alone!”  
  
Harken screwed his eyes shut, taking a shuddering breath. Business is business…  
  
Harken’s link chirped. He reached up and keyed in his earpiece, grateful for the distraction.  
  
“This is Harken,” he said with a grimace. “...I’m sorry, _what_?”  
  
A hovercraft flew past the testing chamber, a silver arrowhead with an unmistakable crest etched onto its side. Harken felt his blood run cold.  
  
Harken reached up and clicked on his comm.  
  
“Send her in.”  
  
~*~  
  
Kresnik escorted Lily on her way from the landing pad. She gave Syl one last glance before Kresnik led her away, leaving Syl with the dour company of silent, faceless Exchange troopers. Lily marched down the plasteel bridge connecting the two spires, the corkscrews of her hair bobbing with every step. She carefully scrutinized every hallway, every door, every turn, just in case she would need to make her way back here on her own. It was a daunting task of memory and focus, and unfortunately, her own escort, unlike Syl’s, just wouldn’t shut up.  
  
“That’s a nice coat,” Kresnik said, eyeing Lily’s signature dove-gray trenchcoat, belted around her waist. “Gets cold down in the sublevels, I bet. Me, I never get to look nice. I gotta wear this big ol’ thing around everywhere. I guess it’s got it’s own rugged charm, though. Just like me, right?”  
  
Kresnik laughed, flashing Lily a jocular grin, to her instant irritation.  
  
“I’m Kresnik, by the way. Headhunter Kresnik. Got me a reputation ‘round these parts for bagging supers. How about you, lady?”  
  
“Look, I’m not your _friend_ , okay?” Lily snapped. “I don’t care who you are. I don’t care about your reputation. What I care about is that you and your cronies shot two of my friends and got them stuck here in this shithole, and I’m here to get them out. So how about you stop chatting me up like you just met me at the bar?”  
  
Kresnik stopped in his tracks, taken aback. Lily huffed and kept on walking.  
  
“Well, excuse me for trying to make some conversation,” he muttered. “It’s a damn long walk.”  
  
Lily took a deep, calming breath, and set her eyes forward. She could feel the weight of every step she took towards Aabha and Morgan. She had felt the weight of Syl’s eyes on her back. The weight of what she was about to do settled on her shoulders like a yoke, and she fought her way free, pushing forward, shoving her fear beneath her feet.  
  
They stopped outside the door to the testing chamber, only for Lily to flinch as Morgan screamed within. Even muffled by the hatchway, his voice chilled her blood.  
  
“Those are your friends inside there, are they?” Kresnik muttered, uncomfortable.  
  
“Yes,” Lily said.  
  
Kresnik looked at the floor.  
  
“I’m sorry.”  
  
“That makes me feel _real_ better,” Lily snapped.  
  
“I mean it,” Kresnik growled out, wrestling with his guilt. “It was just a job. Nothing personal. You understand.”  
  
“Whatever,” Lily muttered.  
  
Kresnik shot her a pained look, before turning to the door console and keying in his code.  
  
The hatch doors slid open. Lily choked back a gasp at the sight that awaited her within-- Aabha and Morgan, bloody and broken, watched over by an immaculately dressed businessman and a sorcerer with the Devil’s eyes. Cyrus fixed his eyes upon her, and she froze in the doorway, her breath catching in her throat. Harken, she was expecting. A businessman, even a crime lord, that was par for the course. But a sorcerer…  
  
Kresnik nudged her forward, jarring Lily out of her trance. She stepped inside, the hatch door closing behind them. Harken quickly came to greet them, taking a wide walk across the room so as to avoid stepping on the bloodied floor.  
  
“Welcome, my friends, welcome,” Harken said, clasping his hands together and flashing a genial smile. “Welcome to the Esoteric Xenobiology Center. I am Arthur Harken, Overseer of our operations here in Trance City. How may I help you today?”  
  
Lily stared daggers into Harken’s eyes. This prick sounded like he was trying to sell her a car, not someone who had just had two people tortured on his watch.  
  
“You have two of my friends captive,” Lily growled. “I’m here to get them back.”  
  
“Of course, of course. That can certainly be arranged,” Harken smiled. “But first, might I know who I’m addressing, Miss…?”  
  
“Chase,” Lily spat. “Lilian Chase. Of Chase Security Solutions.”  
  
Harken stopped short. Along the walls, a few of his troopers exchanged curious looks.  
  
“ _Very_ interesting…” Harken murmured. “After Adrian Chase, no doubt. I take it, then, you’re here on behalf of your family?”  
  
Lily met Aabha’s eyes across the room. She pressed her lips into a line.  
  
“Yes,” Lily said, adamant. “I am.”  
  
“Well, then…” Harken continued. “It would seem that daddy’s little heiress has come to buy her friends out of custody, is that correct?”  
  
“No,” Lily said. “But I’ve recently run afoul of a certain Syndicate Underboss named Charles Fontaine. I’ve caused him a great deal of trouble lately. And he’ll pay _anything_ to get his hands on me.”  
  
Lily nodded towards Aabha and Morgan.  
  
“Let them go free, and Fontaine’s bounty is yours.”  
  
Harken brought his hands up to his mouth, resting his chin on his latticed fingers.  
  
“Let me see if I understand you correctly,” Harken said. “You are asking that we release your friends, and take you instead, after which we shall surrender you to the Dark Star Syndicate for however much they’re willing to pay? Is that right?”  
  
“Yes,” Lily said.  
  
“You would sell yourself into the hands of a mob boss if it meant letting these two go free?” Harken wondered. “He could kill you, you know. Or keep you alive, only to do worse. Even if we release your friends, there is every chance you will never even see them again. Are you really so willing to take that chance? Are they worth so much to you?”  
  
“They. Are.” Lily growled, adamant.  
  
“How interesting…” Harken said, pacing, his hands behind his back. “...and how very noble. You are known to us, Miss Chase. How could you not? You and your sister are the two most wanted women in the sector. You are offering me the chance to bleed the Dark Star Syndicate of every last credit they can spare before their final paltry pieces are swept from the board. A tempting offer, to be sure.”  
  
Harken stopped short, turning on his heel.  
  
“The bounty on your head is, indeed, quite substantial, Miss Chase,” he said, adjusting his tie. “Certainly enough to purchase a few captives, I think.”  
  
Harken met Lily’s eyes, and offered his hand.  
  
“You have yourself a deal.”  
  
Lily exhaled. She reached out to shake Harken’s hand.  
  
“No.”  
  
Soft as it was, the single word cut through the air like a thunderclap. Cyrus approached them, his long crimson robe dusting the ground like a bridal train. Frost bloomed across the tiles beneath his feet, surrounded by that aura of suffocating cold.  
  
“No,” Cyrus said. “That will not do.”  
  
Harken cleared his throat. “With respect, Your Excellency, these negotiations are not your concern--”  
  
“Oh, but they are,” Cyrus said, his voice never rising above that chilling whisper. “Mr. Harken, you are a businessman at heart, I can see. And though this deal with Miss Chase, not unlike the Blood Pact courting the Exchange as an ally in the wake of the Syndicate’s collapse, is no more than a transfer of funds to you… there are things much rarer and much more valuable than _money_ in this world.”  
  
Cyrus gestured towards Aabha, his brass rings glinting in the light.  
  
“This girl is one such rarity,” Cyrus said. “And I will not part with her. Name your price, Mr. Harken. Any price, and you shall have it… so long as I have her.”  
  
Harken swallowed hard, sweating despite the cold. He glanced away with a shudder, toying with his cuffs.  
  
“...Of course, Your Excellency.”  
  
Lily didn’t know what to say. She stood there, her mouth half-open in protest, but the words wouldn’t come.  
  
Cyrus turned his unearthly gaze upon her, and she slammed her jaw shut and tried, in vain, to wrench her eyes away from his.  
  
“Your offer was indeed generous, Miss Chase,” Cyrus said, and Lily’s skin crawled at the sound of her name in his voice. “Selfless. Heroic. To trade your life for the lives of your fellows. Such valor should not go unrewarded. After all, you came all this way. It would not do for you to leave empty-handed.”  
  
Cyrus gestured, and the restraints around Morgan’s arms and legs snapped open. After a second for the cue to sink in, a pair of Exchange troopers marched forward, hoisted him over their shoulders, and eased him up out of his chair.  
  
“This one is of no use to me,” Cyrus said, impassive. “Take him. But the girl is mine.”  
  
Lily stood there, stunned. She turned, helpless, searching, and met Aabha’s eyes across the room.  
  
_Go_ , Aabha mouthed. _I’ll be okay._  
  
Lily balled her hands into fists. Tears pricked at her eyes.  
  
“Damn it,” she whispered, trembling.  
  
“Leave us,” Cyrus said, waving his hand dismissively. “There is still much work to be done, and I do not care overmuch for these interruptions. I would like to resume testing immediately. Unless, of course, you have any objections, Overseer?”  
  
Harken opened his mouth. He closed it again.  
  
“...No, Your Excellency,” he muttered, cowed. “My apologies for the delay. Mr. Kresnik? Kindly escort our guests out.”  
  
“Y-Yeah…” Kresnik mumbled. “You got it.”  
  
Kresnik ushered Lily out the door, followed by the two Exchange troopers propping Morgan up on their shoulders. They let him go, and stepped back inside, the hatch sliding shut behind them.  
  
Morgan took two faltering steps before his legs gave out under him. Kresnik knelt and caught him before he hit the ground, grimacing as Morgan’s blood left dark streaks on his dull, off-white armor. Kresnik sucked in a breath as he saw the extent of Morgan’s injuries. Limp and bloodied, he was like a rag doll in Kresnik’s huge armored paw.  
  
Kresnik made to lift him up, but Lily’s hand closed around his gauntlet.  
  
“No,” Lily said firmly. “I’ll carry him.”  
  
Kresnik watched, wide-eyed, as Lily took Morgan into her arms, one arm curling behind his back, the other beneath his knees. Her dove-gray coat, the one Kresnik had found so fashionable, grew dark and sticky with blood.  
  
“Lily…?” Morgan moaned softly. Lily nodded her head.  
  
Morgan clutched a handful of Lily’s coat, pulling himself up. He craned his head over her shoulder, searching.  
  
“Aabha…” Morgan gasped.  
  
“Shh…” Lily cooed.  
  
Morgan crumpled into Lily’s arms, burying his head in her shoulder. He squeezed her coat fabric into his fist until his arm trembled. A loud, ugly sob burst into Lily’s chest.  
  
Lily strode forward, stony-faced. Despite the tears streaming silently down her cheeks, she held her head up high.  
  
Kresnik watched, speechless, as Lily carried Morgan down the hall. It took him a long while to remember that he was supposed to be escorting them back.  
  
Kresnik took a deep breath and sighed, before getting up and going after them.  
  
It was going to be a long walk.  
  
~*~


End file.
